Packards

by Patricia Burns

‘I ain’t throwing myself at him, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘You saying I am, then?’

  Daisy shrugged. ‘If the cap fits . . .’

  ‘You little cow!’

  The other girl pushed her chair back and stood up. She glared down at Daisy, then addressed the rest of the table.

  ‘You hear what she said to me? She said –’

  ‘Oh shut up,’ someone else said.

  ‘No, you shut up. She’s got a cheek, she has. Just because she works in Miss Packard’s department, she thinks she’s one up on us.’

  ‘Yeah, stuck-up lot, acting all la-di-da –’

  Isobel was terrified. There was real venom in the faces around them. She tried to catch Daisy’s attention.

  ‘Er – Daisy – I think we had better leave now. We only have five minutes –’

  ‘Eoh yes, Ai think we had better leave now,’ one of the girls said, savagely mimicking her accent.

  ‘Hark at her! Lady Muck with her little tennis bat badge.’

  ‘What’s the matter, your ladyship, ain’t we good enough for you?’

  Isobel stood up. She was shaking so much she could hardly pick up her plates. She tottered from the canteen and stopped outside, leaning on the green-painted wall for support. To her surprise, she found Daisy right behind her.

  ‘Those dreadful girls –’ she said.

  Daisy rounded on her, hot-eyed. ‘It’s all your fault.’

  ‘Mine? But –’

  ‘Yes, yours! Don’t act all Miss Innocent with me. Leading them on.’

  Isobel was bewildered. ‘Leading who on? Those girls? I didn’t say a word –’

  ‘Not them, stupid! Johnny –’

  ‘Oh –’ Light began to dawn. ‘Is it those young men? Is that the trouble? But, Daisy, I have hardly spoken a word to them. I don’t speak to them at all unless I’m actually forced to.’

  ‘That’s what I mean!’ Daisy cried. ‘Giving them the cold shoulder like that. Leading them on. Don’t tell me you don’t know what you’re doing.’

  ‘But – but I –’

  Isobel felt sick. That was what he had said, her brother-in-law. That she had led him on.

  ‘Daisy, I – that was the last thing I wanted to do. I hate it when they hang round us. This morning, when they were there at the door, I was horrified. You must have noticed that.’

  Daisy’s lower lip trembled. ‘I tell you what I noticed, mate. I noticed Johnny hanging on every word what you let him drag from you. I noticed the way what he looked at you. That’s what.’

  The fear clutched at Isobel with sharp talons.

  ‘What do you mean, looking at me?’

  But she knew. She knew what it meant, too. It started with looks and smiles and compliments and it ended with them tearing at you. The nightmare closed in on her, the fear and the guilt. Your fault – your fault – you led me on – She doubled over, arms hugging her body in feeble defence.

  ‘Stop it,’ she wailed. ‘Stop it. Please –’

  An arm touched her shoulder. She flinched and gasped. He was trying to get her.

  ‘No – no –’

  Then Daisy’s voice came through to her, sharp with anxiety. ‘Isobel, what’s the matter?’

  The pounding in her head receded. She was in a corridor. There were people coming past them. Some of them stopped.

  ‘What’s up? She all right?’

  ‘She’s poorly,’ Daisy’s voice told them. ‘She’ll be all right in a minute. Come on, Izzy, come out of the way. That’s it.’

  It was cooler. There was an echoing space round her and the smell of humanity had gone. Isobel took a shuddering breath, the fear subsiding. She realised she was out on one of the service stairways. Daisy’s face swam into view, pale with concern.

  ‘What is it, Izzy? What happened?’

  But she couldn’t explain. Not even to Daisy.

  ‘Nothing. I felt – faint. That’s all. Faint. I’m all right now.’

  ‘You sure? You look awful.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ Isobel repeated, though nothing could be further from the truth.

  ‘Look – was it something I said?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘No, no, nothing.’ She did not want to talk about it. She had managed to keep it bottled up inside her so far and inside was where it was going to stay. It was safer there. She could contain it. And nobody would know her shame. She took a shuddering breath, tried to make her voice sound normal.

  ‘I think – hadn’t we better get back? We’ll be late.’

  ‘If you’re sure . . .’ Daisy said reluctantly.

  The department suddenly seemed like a haven of security. There was no danger of Johnny Miller appearing. He would be confined to Carpets. The only men who came in were those accompanying their womenfolk and they were safe on the other side of the counter. You didn’t even have to look at them.

  ‘I’m sure,’ she said.

  The afternoon stretched out in front of her, hours of standing and smiling and being obliging. Isobel went through the motions, producing stock, taking money, putting up with indecision and time-wasting and rudeness.

  Miss Packard swept in with her other brother in tow, the one who looked like her. The whole atmosphere of the department changed, became charged with excitement. She looked into every corner, questioned Miss Higgs at length, then spoke to each of the shopgirls. Isobel answered as best she could.

  ‘Oh, it’s so frustrating, not being able to be here with you all,’ Miss Packard complained. ‘Here you are, doing so well, and I’m forced to go to beastly dress fittings. I only escaped here today because Perry’s supposed to be in charge of me. Now, Miss Higgs, I must tell you about the summer lines I’ve ordered. My dear brother here is going to take me out to the factories this afternoon, so that I can see for myself exactly what they are doing. They have promised me some simply charming bathing dresses, so once the holiday season is upon us, we must make a display of them. And then there is the yachting wear as well. I thought we could have seaside things in the archway and the walls – lifebelts and nets and that sort of thing –’

  Isobel found herself envying Miss Packard. Not her wealth or her position, but her enthusiasm and confidence. Miss Packard was not afraid of life. She watched her as she talked and moved about the department, then realised she was staring and looked away, only to find her eyes meeting those of Miss Packard’s brother. She blushed and looked away again. Men. There were men everywhere. There was no getting away from them. But at least this one was a gentleman. He did not try to speak to her when he had not been introduced. For that she had to be grateful.

  Dot sidled up to her after the Packards had gone.

  ‘Don’t often see Mr Perry Packard in here, do we? Handsome, ain’t he? Most of the girls prefer Mr Edward. They like ‘em tall and dark. But me, I like Mr Perry. He’s more sort of gentle.’

  Isobel didn’t have a preference for either of them. All she asked was that they leave her alone. But an answer seemed to be expected of her, so she said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘He was giving you the eye, wasn’t he?’

  Isobel shuddered. Not again, please. She couldn’t stand it.

  ‘I sincerely hope not,’ she said.

  ‘Oo, you are a funny one! If he gave me the eye, I’d be pleased as Punch. He’d give you a real good time, I bet. Nights out, presents, everything.’

  To Isobel’s infinite relief, Miss Higgs intervened.

  ‘No gossiping. You should know that by now. Miss Brand, those drawers need tidying.’

  Isobel diligently folded, stacked and lined up the offending merchandise, grateful for the mindlessness of the occupation. By the time she had finished, she felt a little calmer, and just about able to attend to the customer that Miss Higgs directed her to serve. The lady concerned kept her busy fetching this and showing that, dithered over the choice of divided skirts, declined to try any on and in the end went out without buying anything. Isobel had just finished putting all the things she ha
d asked for away again when a movement just the other side of the archway caught her eye.

  She looked, and went cold. It couldn’t be. She was seeing things. It was a result of having that turn at dinner time. Her heart hammering in her chest, she looked again at the man now standing on the threshold of the department. A sick certainty crawled over her. Everything about him was horribly familiar, from the shape of his head to the way he planted his feet. It was him, and he had come looking for her. She flung herself to the floor and huddled as close to the counter as she could get.

  Feet stopped beside her.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Daisy’s voice hissed down.

  Isobel pressed against her. Daisy would save her. Daisy was brave.

  ‘Don’t let him see me.’

  ‘Who? Don’t let who see you?’

  Oh God, if he saw Daisy talking to her, he would come over.

  ‘Don’t say anything. Pretend I’m not here.’

  She squeezed her eyes shut, put her arms over her head, willing him to go away. But she knew that he wouldn’t. He was stronger than her. She’d been a fool to think she could escape from him.

  Miss Higgs’s voice broke in, strident with irritation. ‘Where is Miss Brand?’

  ‘She – she’s picking some things up, Miss Higgs.’

  ‘From the floor? How very clumsy. Well, help her. Don’t just stand there.’

  Daisy’s arm was about Isobel’s shoulders, her voice close to her ear.

  ‘Izzy, what’s up? You been acting like you’re off of your head. What are you afraid of?’

  Isobel tried to explain, but couldn’t. ‘There – there’s a man –’

  ‘For God’s sake, Iz! What man?’

  ‘Out there – by the archway.’

  The department no longer felt like a haven. It had become a trap. The only way out was through the arch.

  There was a movement as Daisy straightened up, then bent down again.

  ‘Iz, there ain’t no men in the department at all. There’s two young ladies buying bicycling skirts, a mother and daughter looking at the motoring hats and an older lady asking for golfing jackets, and Miss Higgs is looking this way and if you don’t get up right now there’s going to be big trouble.’

  Isobel did not move. Miss Higgs was nothing to the terror that clawed at her.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘What is going on here?’

  Daisy leapt to defend her. ‘Oh Miss Higgs, Miss Brand ain’t feeling well. Faint. Yes – she feels faint. It’s her monthlies, you see.’

  Miss Higgs tutted with impatience. ‘If she’s not well, she had better go home. This is a shop, not a sickroom.’

  Home! That would mean leaving the store. By herself. And he was out there somewhere waiting for her. Isobel got to her feet. She felt sick and clammy. But Daisy was right – he was not in the department. She clutched at the counter, trembling.

  ‘I – I think I’ll be all right, Miss Higgs.’

  The senior saleswoman eyed her with suspicion. ‘Are you sure? I can’t have you fainting in front of customers. It gives a very bad impression.’

  ‘I won’t, I promise.’

  The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of fear. Isobel could not concentrate on anything. She dropped things, failed to hear what was said to her, forgot what she was supposed to be doing. Her eyes were continually straying to the archway, watching each new person that entered. But he did not come back. She began to wonder if she really had seen him. Perhaps it was just her imagination. She desperately hoped so.

  10

  ‘REALLY, MEL, THIS place is appalling,’ Perry complained. ‘The smell!’

  He took out a large linen handkerchief and held it to his nose.

  Amelie was rather inclined to agree with him. The smell coming in through the motor car windows was horrible. Their surroundings were horrible too – filthy tenement buildings crowded both sides of the narrow street. Hawkers cried their wares in raucous voices and ragged children played in the gutters. Pale men and women with hopeless eyes stared at them from doorways. Amelie suppressed a shudder. A world away in Mayfair, spring was filling squares and parks and gardens with colour and scent. Trees were in blossom, tulips and wallflowers bright in the flowerbeds. Here the sunshine seemed only to emphasise the poverty and dirt.

  ‘Cheer up, Perry, it will make you all the more grateful for your dinner tonight.’

  ‘I still don’t see why you had to come here in person. Surely you could have telephoned?’

  ‘Telephoned? Perry, they’ve hardly heard of the telephone in this part of the world.’

  ‘You could have written, then. Or asked the man to come and see you.’

  ‘I’ve no office in which to receive him, Perry. I can’t just speak to him in the middle of the department.’

  ‘There’s going to be no end of a song and dance made of it if Mother finds out. We’re supposed to be making calls,’ Perry pointed out.

  ‘I know, but you don’t want to do that, do you? It’s so utterly boring.’

  ‘I don’t think coming to the East End is particularly amusing.’

  ‘Nonsense, you’ll be able to make no end of funny stories out of it for your friends. I’m sure they don’t even know where it is.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I want to,’ Perry said.

  ‘Well, I’m very grateful to you for coming with me, Brother dear. I’ll make it up to you one day, I promise.’

  They had to stop to ask the way several times, attracting knots of onlookers, most of them fascinated, but some openly resentful of such a display of wealth.

  ‘They’d better not touch my motor,’ Perry said, glaring at the filthy hands stretching out towards the shiny metalwork.

  At last they arrived outside a three-storey building of blackened brick. Perry then had to decide whether to do the right thing and go in with his sister to protect her against whatever dangers might await her, or stay outside and guard his beautiful motor car.

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, stay with your toy, do,’ Amelie told him. ‘I shall be perfectly all right.’

  Perry glanced up at the small sign above the door, ‘Y. Baum & Sons, Clothing Manufacturers’, then at the grubby children that were already gathering in a circle round them.

  ‘Very well, then,’ he agreed. His lovely yellow Renault was not brand-new, but he had only bought it two weeks ago from a friend who was in financial difficulties, and he loved it like a baby.

  Amelie pushed open the door and was confronted with a steep flight of bare wooden stairs. A smell hung over the place that she couldn’t identify, and there was the sound of voices and a continual heavy rumbling that got louder as she went upwards. At the top of the stairs was a landing crowded with packing cases, and two doors with windows in them. One led to an office, in which two men were conferring, the other to the factory floor. Amelie stared through this second window, fascinated. The rumbling came from the rows of sewing machines which were packed so close together that the young boys carrying pieces of half-completed work from one part of the room to another could hardly squeeze between them. Pale, tired-looking women and girls were bent over the machines, guiding the fabric under the stabbing needles while under the tables their legs treadled away, powering the whirring wheels. The ones nearest the small windows could work by daylight, but further away they peered at the racing seams by the smeary glare of gaslamps. As she watched, a thickset man in his shirtsleeves picked up a piece that one girl had just finished, inspected it and began shouting and brandishing it under her nose. The girl at first looked frightened, then argued back, but Amelie could not make out what they were saying above the racket from the machines.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  Startled, Amelie turned round. She had been so engrossed in watching the drama unfolding that she had lost sight of what she had come for. A dark young man stood before her, dressed in a well-cut jacket and trousers, but with the exotic addition of a skull cap set at the back of his head. He
was looking at her with just as much interest as she was looking at his factory.

  ‘Oh – yes – I am Miss Packard. I have come to speak to Mr Baum.’

  Now it was his turn to look startled. ‘Miss Packard? The Miss Packard? From Packards’ store?’

  ‘Yes. I wanted to see to the order for bathing dresses personally.’

  ‘This is a great honour, Miss Packard. I am Nathan Baum. Come into the office, please, and meet my father.’

  He ushered her into a small room crowded with desk, shelves, filing cabinets, a big new typewriter and piles of samples. He spoke rapidly in a language that sounded something like German but wasn’t, to a small middle-aged man with long greying hair falling in thin curls on either side of his face, then introduced him to Amelie as his father, Yitzak Baum.

  ‘You are very welcome, Miss Packard. Please to sit down,’ the older Mr Baum said. His thick accent was a surprise after his son’s pure cockney.

  Amelie was offered tea, which was brought by a pretty dark girl about her own age. The two Baums consulted rapidly in the Germanic language again, for which Nathan apologised, telling her that his father’s English was not very good. He then explained that they were especially surprised to see her as they had thought that the order had been cancelled. Amelie could not understand it.

  ‘It’s certainly nothing of my doing,’ she said. ‘Do you have the letter?’

  Nathan produced an invoice, stamped across in red with ‘Packards: Cancelled’.

  ‘We received this yesterday. We were about to enquire into it.’

  ‘That’s very odd indeed. I shall look into it myself,’ Amelie said. ‘But it is most clearly a mistake. I was very pleased with your samples, but I have some ideas on how to make them even better. Now –’

  She outlined her ideas for bathing dresses that were lighter and easier to move in but still preserved a woman’s modesty. The Baums produced fabric samples and the girl, who turned out to be Nathan’s sister, was called back again to sketch variations on the original design. When they had decided on the exact lines of collars and sleeves and skirts, the details of trim had to be agreed. Braids and buttons were laid out for Amelie to look at. Colour and quality was debated in two languages. Three designs with variations of colour and trim were finally decided upon. Then came the question of cost. The chief cutter, an uncle, was called in, and rapid calculations were made.